


don't assume (or you'll make an ass out of you and me)

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [23]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Drunk Texting, Getting Together, M/M, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Reasons you should check who you're texting at midnight: Exhibit A





	don't assume (or you'll make an ass out of you and me)

**Author's Note:**

> for the anon prompt: "24. “i don’t blame you, i wouldn’t love me either”"

_hrems_

_*herms_

_whatre u doin_

_im bored_

_i wish u were here…_

_i mean im glad ur staying in bed bc ur sick but_

Hermann stares at the screen blearily, eyes stinging slightly even with the brightness all the way down. The messages are timestamped an hour earlier, and he hadn’t seen them until just now, exhausted and fast asleep, having crashed in bed for a nap due to the aforementioned sickness.

His brow furrows as he tries to recall what event the other could possibly be attending; as far as he knows, there isn’t any sort of party; if there had been, Newton would’ve talked his ear off about it. If not a party, though, then what?

_Newt? Where are you?_ he types, having to concentrate extra-hard to avoid typos. For a second, the screen reads  _sent_  before switching to  _read at 11:26 PM_. After a few minutes, he’s about to give up hope of receiving a reply, but then the little pencil icon appears.

_im not in thne lab if thats what ur askign_

_im in my room_

_*asking_

_*the_

Hermann smiles slightly at the typos; Newton always thinks faster than he can type or speak, and it’s  ~~endearingly~~  extremely clear in moments like these. 

_im just_

_sad_

_i think? idk i might just be hungry…_

The messages are rapid-fire, and it’s like having the biologist by his side; his tendency to go off on tangents in real life conversations transfers over to text, as well, the jump from topic-to-topic, while jaring for outside observers, is familiar to Hermann. Comforting, even.

_im in love and it hurts_

Hermann draws in a deep breath, surprised.  _Newt, are you drunk?_

_no im not stop worrying_

_okay maybe im overexhausted_

_i havent slept in 36 hrs_

_Newton!_ Hermann wants to snap, scold him for his feckless attitude, but text doesn’t carry the tone properly. He wants to force the other to take care of himself properly, but he’s aware that Newton is a fully-grown adult, and as stubborn as a two-year-old to boot.

_but like ive only had 1 glass…_

_but im sad and im rly into him but hes not interested…_

_fuck tendo i tried to give him flowers and he asked me *why*_

_and the other day i used the “are u a book cuz im chevking u out” joke nd he stared at me blankly_

_*checking_

_i mean its like_

_“i dont blame you, i wouldn’t love me either”_

Hermann stills, because he  _remembers_  both of those incidents. He—he’d thought it was a mix-up, or that the biologist was mocking him. Heart racing, he rereads the messages. Oh.  _Newton, I’m not Tendo._ There’s a second, before the pencil icon returns.

_fuck_

_oh god im sorry_

_ignore that all pls_

_im so sorry hermann_

_Wait!_ Hermann types, but it’s too late. The screen reads  _sent_ but remains that way. Hermann’s heart clenches. He wants to get out of bed, race to Newt’s room; demand  _did you really mean that?_ but he can barely stand at this point, fatigued as he is.

With a frustrated groan and a sneeze, Hermann settles back under the blankets, miserably hoping he’ll be well enough to try and speak to Newton in the morning. He hopes…oh, damn that. He fervently desires that Newt feels similarly—what was originally simply a crush has grown and mutated in the past decade to something more deeply rooted; the scent of formaldehyde and a quick smile, the intonations that mean fond exasperation and a scratchy  _call me Newt!_

It isn’t love, not in the way it’s classically portrayed, but it’s…something. Something beyond mere friendship, that much is certain.

He drifts off to a restless sleep.

When he blinks awake, the first thought in his mind is  _ow_ followed quickly thereafter with _Newton!_ He checks the time. Past nine in the morning. His congestion has cleared up a fair amount, and he no longer feels like falling over when he stands up.

The walk to Newton’s room is a blur; two months post-Slattern (post-almost apocalypse, as Newt would say) the Shatterdome is almost half-empty, and he doesn’t pass anyone in the halls.

The door handle, when he tries it, is locked; he bangs on it, calls, “Newton? Newton!” Despite what most assume, of the two of them, Newt is the only one who can wake up before ten with any amount of regularity, and Hermann doubts he’s asleep.

A few beats pass, and Hermann waits with bated breath, before the locking mechanism clicks and the door swings open to reveal a red-eyed Newton, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a loose, faded graphic tee. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice hollow. “Can we just—can we pretend I never said that?”

“Absolutely  _not_ ,” Hermann snaps. “For once in your life, Newt, act like an adult and face things head-on.” It’s a low blow, and they both know it, but Hermann, in the face of adversity, is prone to slipping back into old habits.

“I’m sorry,” Newt repeats. “I thought you were Tendo.”

He tries to slam the door shut, but Hermann insinuates his cane in the way, ducks inside before Newt manages to stop him. “Quit saying that.”

“Well what do you  _want_  me to say?”

Hermann’s lips pull back in frustration, teeth bared as he hisses, “The  _truth!_ ”

“The truth?” Newt laughs, semi-hysterically, throws his head back. “The  _truth_ ,  _Doctor Gottlieb_ , is that I am, for some insane reason, irrevocably attracted to you!” He’s almost shouting at this point, hands clenched into fists.

“As am I!” Hermann spits back, almost a snarl.

It takes a second to register, for both of them, what he’s just said, and Newt gapes at him. “You—what?” he breathes, features slack with surprise.

“Yes!” Hermann snaps. “There, I’ve said it—at least I’m not trying to hide from it!”

“I wasn’t!” Newt shouts back, throwing up his hands. “I kept trying to express interest, and you kept thinking it was just a mistake!”

“Well how was I supposed to know you weren’t mocking me?” Hermann questions hotly.

Newt lets out a bark of laughter. “ _Mock_  you? The hell, Hermann? I might be a dick sometimes, but I thought you held me in a higher regard than that!”

Hermann glares at the other, flushed, and sputtering. “…apologies,” he says slowly. “I didn’t intend to imply that I think of you as…morally deficient.” Newt huffs.

“You bastard,” he sighs. “You handsome, annoying, brilliant bastard.” This time it’s Hermann’s turn to sputter incoherently, blushing hotly at the compliments, and fixes his gaze on an interesting sketch on the wall, fingers fidgeting with the head of his cane. Newt’s gaze tracks his movements, and from the corner of his eye, Hermann catches him grinning.

“So,” he says, sidling up to Hermann, “what do you say we order take out for brunch and cuddle on my bed?”

Hermann clears his throat, trying not to blush further as Newt slips his hand into Hermann’s, and finally meets his eyes. “I think that’s an  _excellent_  idea, Newton.”


End file.
